Chosen

by Nancy Holder

  Xander tried to get Buffy to get some rest, but she demurred. They watched on as Willow finished her oblation, pouring magical powder on the table from a bowl.

  Then the area on the table exploded, sending Anya flying. Wind whipped through the room, scattering objects in a maelstrom. The bowl superheated as Dawn shrieked and jumped away. Crimson light from the bowl twisted into twin funnels that shot into her nose. Willow threw back her head and screamed as her eyes and hair went black. Then The First, as Buffy had first glimpsed it years ago, erupted from Willow’s mouth.

  It was enormous, a glowing red apparition derived from every nightmare of hell, its eyes two flaming pits, its talons at the ready as it lunged at Buffy. Then it was immediately sucked back inside the Wicca.

  “Will!” Buffy cried.

  Willow stood, her body shaking as red lightning bolts shot from her mouth. The bolts knocked Buffy down and shot her across the room.

  A demonic voice erupted from Willow, bellowing, “You only make me stronger!”

  Xander, who had snatched the bowl that held the spell ingredients, smashed it against the dining room wall. Just as suddenly as everything had started, it all went back to normal. Willow’s eyes and hair—everything.

  Willow’s knees buckled and she fell to the floor. She was sobbing and shaking, and as Buffy knelt at her side, Willow cried, “It’s still in me. I feel it!”

  “No, it’s not. It’s gone. You’re okay,” Buffy soothed.

  Willow could not calm down. “I don’t want to hurt anybody. Please, Buffy, don’t let it make me. Oh, God!”

  “We won’t. I promise. We won’t use magic to fight this thing until we know what we’re doing.”

  * * *

  Shortly thereafter, Buffy put on her coat and gathered up a few weapons, preparing to go after The First herself.

  “At least let me go with you,” Xander insisted. And when she refused, he pointed out, “You said so yourself you don’t know how to fight The First. Or even where it is.”

  Buffy reached for the door. “It’s out there. It’s hurting my friends. I’ll find it.”

  She pulled the door open.

  Giles stood on the front porch, a nimbus of light around his head.

  “Buffy,” he said.

  “Giles.” She couldn’t believe the relief that flooded through her at the sight of him. She went to hug him, but at that moment, three young girls she’d never seen before walked right into her house.

  The First one looked all Ghost World—lunchbox for a purse, and as she came in, she said, “Nice place. Bit of a mess.”

  The second one, more polished, smiled at Buffy and drifted in, saying nothing.

  The third one—very beautiful—gave Buffy a once-over and said, “This is the Slayer? Huh.” She sounded unimpressed.

  “Sorry to barge in,” Giles said, a tad wry. “I’m afraid we have a slight apocalypse.”

  * * *

  In the living room, Dawn inspected the three new girls as she said, “They’re all Slayers?”

  “Potential Slayers,” Giles explained. “Waiting for one to be called. There were many more like them all over the world, but now there’s just a handful, and they’re all on their way to Sunnydale.”

  Buffy got it, realized what she had been seeing in her dreams—Potential Slayers being murdered.

  “We always feared this day would come,” Giles said. “When there’d be an attack, against not just an individual Slayer, but against the whole line.”

  Buffy got it. She said, “The First. That’s what it wants.”

  “Yes,” Giles said. “To erase all the Slayers in training and their Watchers, along with their methods.”

  “And then Faith, and then me,” Buffy said shortly. “And with all the Potentials gone and no way of making another, it’s the end. No more Slayer. Ever.”

  Willow was confused. “But we haven’t found any information on The First. No documentation.”

  Giles crossed his arms as he explained. “That’s because it predates any written history, and it rarely shows its true face. The only record we know was in the Council Library.” He looked uncomfortable.

  “What about the Council? What do they say about this?”

  “Gone,” Giles replied. “Obliterated. They were in session, and there was an explosion.”

  “That means all the Council’s records are—are destroyed?” Willow asked anxiously.

  “Annabelle,” Giles prompted, and the young Potential stepped forward with a backpack. She pulled out a pitiful number of files and books.

  “That’s what’s left,” he told them. “The mystic secrets of the Watchers, and whatever I could find on The First.”

  “But what do these records say about The First?” Buffy asked.

  “Uh, very little,” Giles admitted. “It can change form. It only appears in the guise of someone who’s passed away. Also, it’s not corporeal. It can’t touch or fight on its own. It only works through those it manipulates. And its followers, the Bringers.”

  “Yeah, with the hoodies and the crazy alphabet eyes,” said the Potential named Molly.

  “Molly,” said Annabelle, Mr. Giles doesn’t need us prattling on.”

  Giles at on the arm of the couch. “The First is unlike anything “we’ve faced before. I mean, there’s evil and there’s the thing that created evil, the source.

  He continued. “It has eternities to act, endless resources. How to defeat it . . . honestly, I don’t know. But we have to find a way. If the Slayer line is eliminated, then the Hellmouth has no guardian. the balance is destroyed.”

  He walked up to Buffy. “I’m afraid it falls to you, Buffy. You’re the only one who has the strength to protect the girls—and the world—against what’s coming.”

  “But no pressure,” Xander said angrily.

  The pretty Potential walked to the center of the room and said in disbelief, “That’s it? That’s the plan? I don’t see how one person, even a Slayer, could protect us. And if this thing is the root of all evil, isn’t the Hellmouth going to be its number one vacation spot? I mean, don’t you think we should be hiding our asses on the other side of the globe?”

  “Kennedy!” Annabelle cried.

  “No, she’s not wrong,” Buffy said. “We need more muscle. That’s why we need to find Spike.”

  Anya looked dubious. “Yeah, he’ll help. If he’s not crazy. Or killing people. Or dead. Or you, know, all of the above.”

  * * *

  In the underground cavern that had become Spike’s torture chamber, Spike prayed for the true death to free him of his torment.

  The First was still wearing Drusilla’s skin and it matched her inventiveness—and her viciousness—in causing pain. At her command, the Ubervamp was forcing Spike’s head beneath the surface of a filthy pool of water, waiting for him to expire, then yanking him out to revive.

  Then Spike would sputter to life, coughing up water, gasping in agony.

  “That’s why our kind make such good dollies,” The First said. “Hard to kill.” She glared at him. “Tried to enlighten Little Buffy, didn’t you? Spilled our secrets like seed.” She reached down with her long, thin arms and raised her dress, undulating slowly.

  “But you forgot. I say what you tell and what you know. I saw when this is over.” She let go of her skirt and put her hands behind her head. “And I’m not done with you yet. Not nearly.”

  She clicked her tongue at the Ubervamp, and it shoved Spike back in the water . . . to be drowned all over again.

  * * *

  Sunnydale’s Main Street was decorated for Christmas. Buffy and Giles walked together, as she and Angel once had done.

  “This place, where you last saw The First, you say it was in a Christmas tree lot?”

  “Under it,” Buffy corrected him. “There was a hidden cavern, just happened to be under a tree lot. The Bringers were doing some kind of ritual.” She took a breath as she gazed at her old friend. “Giles, this is bad, isn’t it? A
new kind of bad.”

  “Just in time for Christmas,” Giles said dryly.

  Sighing, Buffy took in their surroundings. “You know, I didn’t even realize it was December. Maybe when we get home, we should decorate the rubble.” She gazed at him fondly. “Think you’ll ever just show up for a real visit? The kind where the world isn’t about to end?”

  “If we survive this, I promise,” he said with a wistful smile.

  “Good. ’Cause I miss you.”

  “I miss you, too,” he told her.

  * * *

  There was a lot going on in Buffy’s house. Young Potentials were getting ready for bed. Xander was boarding up the windows.

  I wish Jonathan could see this. I’m actually hanging out in Buffy’s house with her gang! Andrew thought.

  Still in tied-up hostage mode, Andrew asked Xander, “So, how long have you followed Buffy?”

  Xander looked annoyed. “I don’t follow her. She’s my best friend.”

  “Huh. She seems like a good leader. Her hair is shiny. Does she make you stab things?”

  Meanwhile, Willow was trying to organize the sleeping arrangements, which Kennedy kept vetoing. Apparently, yakking all night and snoring was a common affliction among Potential Slayers. She finally gave up, handing the sheets to the pretty young Potential named Kennedy, and said, “You want to do the sleeping arrangements?”

  Kennedy grinned at her like a sly little cat and said, “You better not hog the covers.”

  Willow blinked. “She’s new!” she blurted to Dawn.

  After that, it was a time to worry about food. Blackened mac and cheese, pizza, plain or veggie, and . . .

  “Brill! Biscuits!” Mollie crowed.

  So everyone ate cookies.

  * * *

  Buffy and Giles got to the place where the Christmas tree lot had once stood. As Buffy stepped on some wooden boards, they broke beneath her weight and she tumbled into the entrance to the cave.

  “Found it,” she announced, picking herself up.

  Giles put on his glasses and peered down at her. “Good Lord,” he said, “are you all right?”

  “Peachy,” she said, dusting herself off. “Except my knees bend backward now. Okay, Giles, stay up there. I’m going to check it out.”

  She walked among the outcroppings and cave formations; she thought she saw a flicker of movement, but when she turned around, there was nothing.

  She walked on, turned around again.

  This time something was there, in her face. He was hideous, gray and deformed, a grotesque of vampiric aspect, an unbelievably hideous monster.

  He made an uppercut that sent her slamming around the cavern. He came at her again, and her blocks were ineffective.

  She retreated; he followed. She managed a few blows, but she barely managed to stay upright. Yet her opponent was barely winded.

  Inside of a minute she was bleeding, spent . . . and very frightened.

  He swung, connected, swung again; but this time she dropped and rolled . . . and sprang to her feet with stake in hand. Before the creature could react, she drove the stake deep into His heart.

  Hah! she thought triumphantly.

  But he did not dust.

  He grinned, and pulled the stake out. Then he came at her with it. She managed to avoid his stabbing motions, and the stake splintered inches from her face.

  The monster was after her, punching her in the stomach, throwing her against the wall. Blow after blow rained down on her. She tried to hit him. He grabbed her fist and broke bones, then drew her forward so that her head rammed into a stalactite, which she broke off and slammed over his head, and he finally loosened his grip on her and fell to the ground.

  Buffy ran.

  She leaped to the rock wall where she had fallen in and started scrambling up, as fast as she could, hand-and footholds crumbling . . .

  She was halfway up when she felt his taloned hand gripping her ankle. . . .

  Buffy struggled mightily to pull herself out of the cave hole, almost freeing herself, but he managed to yank her back in. She dug into the soft earth, her fingers leaving treads. . . .

  And there was Giles, haloed with a nimbus of light once more, this one of rosy dawn . . .

  The sun was rising.

  As Buffy finally got all the way out of the hole, the monster behind retreated in snarling fear.

  * * *

  When they got back to Buffy’s house, the Potentials were eating breakfast, having made themselves at home.

  “Sorry about the British invasion,” Kennedy said. Then she looked at Buffy as the Slayer walked into the kitchen and said, “You all right? You look . . .” She trailed off.

  Buffy shut the door and said, “Yeah, I just got into a fight, is all.” She said to Giles, “You want to tell me with what?”

  Giles hesitated. “Buffy, don’t you think we should discuss this privately?”

  “You mean, not in front of the next generation? No time to coddle them.” She said to the Potentials, “Welcome to the war room, guys.”

  A thrill rippled through the girls. Annabelle grabbed a pen and a pad of paper.

  “What you fought was a vampire, but it was something more than that,” Giles explained. “It was a Turok-han. As Neanderthals are to human beings, the Turok-han are to vampires. Primordial, ferociously powerful killing machines, as singleminded as animals. They are the vampires vampires fear. An ancient and entirely different race. Until this morning, I thought they were myth.”

  Buffy took that in. “So The First shows up—and now this. Think it’s a coincidence?”

  “More likely, the Turok-han is here as an agent of The First,” Giles replied.

  The girls processed that. Then Annabelle nervously raised her hand.

  “Did you slay it?”

  “No,” Buffy replied. “It’s still out there. Somewhere.”

  “What’s it want?” Molly asked.

  “All of us dead,” Buffy said frankly. “But for now it looks like sunlight is keeping this Ubervamp away.”

  “So, until sunset, I suggest you get some rest,” Giles urged Buffy. “A few hours sleep will do a world of difference.”

  “Somehow, I don’t think taking on prehistoric evil comes with nap time. I’m going to go to work, see what I can find out. I’ll be back before sunset.”

  Giles looked skeptical. “How do you plan to research something as ill-defined as The First?”

  “I have the best plan ever,” Buffy informed him.

  * * *

  Okay, maybe not the best plan, Buffy conceded, as she sat in her cubicle at Sunnydale High. Typing the single word “evil” into her Web browser had yielded 900,517 results.

  Unbeknownst to Buffy, Principal Wood had come up behind her. He read off her screen, “Manifestations of Evil?”

  Buffy jumped, but calmly typed, “In The Movies.”

  “You’re searching for evil movies?” the principal queried.

  “I know it’s not the all-time most kosher use of office hours, but, ah, I’m facing a little downtime here and what can I say?” Buffy asked disingenuously. “I just love those evil, evil movies. Like The Exorcist or Blair Witch.”

  “As opposed to, say, Rob Schneider’s oeuvre,” he put in.

  “Different evil,” she said.

  “You okay?” He studied her. “You’ve looked better.

  She frowned, a little hurt.

  He added, “I’m not that big a fan of scary movies, even the hokey ones. Sometimes they go to a place I think kids could stand to avoid.”

  She demurred. “Well, this isn’t for the kids . . .”

  “Once you see true evil, it can have some serious afterburn. You can’t unsee what you saw. Ever.”

  They stared at each other, and she wondered if he was giving her some kind of message beside the message that See No Evil was his, um, message.

  Then he shrugged. “Just one opinion,” he offered, and he was friendly about it.

  A bit shake
n, she watched as he turned back to his office. She said,

  He paused. “Mysteries,” he replied. “I love finding out what’s underneath it all at the end.”

  And there it was again, the sense that he was saying more than he was saying.

  He walked away.

  * * *

  Still dressed in Drusilla’s face, The First continued to torture Spike, who was beaten and hurt so badly he could hardly move.

  “Think of it as a game,” she suggested. “A fun, funny game. Without all the rules, or any of the bothersome winning part. But still, there are sides. You have to choose a side, Spike. Then we can fly, be free and visit all our friends as they come squirming from out the earth.”

  She began to dance, slow and dirty. “I know you like a good wriggle and a giggle and a squiggle.”

  “You’re not Drusilla,” he told her. “She was crazier than you.”

  She made a show of covering her ears with her hands. “Ooh, daddy. No kicking. It’s almost Christmas Day and you’ve gone spoiling it. I’ve been so very good all year.” She smiled and growled at him.

  “But I could be bad if you like.”

  He looked away from her, but the Ubervamp punched him in the head.

  “Bad daddy. Needs a caning. Never learned his headmaster’s lesson while all the school bells ring . . . and ring . . . and ring.” She pantomimed ringing a bell.

  “Choose a side,” she whispered in his ear. “Choose our side. You know that it’s delicious.” She mimed licking his face. “What do you say?”

  “Dru . . . love . . .” He set his jaw, knowing what was to come. “Get bent.”

  “Stupid stubborn daddy,” she pouted.

  Then she folded her hands over her heart and danced . . . as the Ubervamp mercilessly beat Spike.

  * * *

  In the bathroom in her house, Buffy examined her injuries. They were bad. No wonder Principal Wood had asked her how she was. She looked terrible. Then a hand was touching her arm . . . her mother’s hand . . . and Joyce Summers was all concern and affection.

  “I tried to warn you,” she began, then looked abashed and said, “The last thing you need now is one of my helpful Mom’s guilt trips. I’ll get you some ice.”

  She turned to go. Buffy stopped her. “No, Mom, I can’t,” she said.